


Dicas me somniare, sed non sum solus

by i_amnerd



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amnerd/pseuds/i_amnerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late. Like, really late. And Josh is, as per usual, freaking out. Over what, Sam isn't sure. He hasn't really been sure of much since two whiskies ago. Or the four before that.</p><p>(Kind of a late Christmas fic, really).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dicas me somniare, sed non sum solus

It's late. Like, really late. And Josh is, as per usual, freaking out. Over what, Sam isn't sure. He hasn't really been sure of much since two whiskies ago. Or the four before that.

Toby's watching Josh with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. The younger man is gesticulating wildly, his vague, yet strangely emphatic, hand gestures punctuating his rant about something everyone else lost interest in half an hour ago.

They've been drinking for a couple of hours now, knocking back shot after shot, beer after beer, and it's beginning to be rather self-evident. The bartender's looking at them askance, so Sam pokes CJ, who in turn pokes Toby, who turns around to glare at her.

Josh carries on regardless, seemingly oblivious to his sudden lack of audience. CJ gestures towards the bartender and Toby nods in understanding.

He turns back to Josh and says firmly, "We're done for the night."

Sam throws down enough cash to cover their stupidly large tab and they all stagger out into the cold night air. It hits Sam like a freight train and he is suddenly, frighteningly, sober.

He's never found self-medicating with alcohol to be a terribly appealing idea in the past; it worries him that, more and more of late, he's beginning to crave the numbness and sweet oblivion it provides.

Alcohol has always been Josh and Toby's preferred 'solution', never his. Which, in hindsight, is ridiculous, given that Josh is a lightweight of epic proportions.

Josh is currently giving a very convincing demonstration of his propensity for drunken idiocy, one arm around Toby's waist as he tries, and mostly fails to fall off the sidewalk and into the road. For his part, Toby flings out an arm and flags down a passing taxi.

They pile in. Toby somehow manages to call shotgun without a word, so Sam ends up sandwiched between CJ and a door. He sighs deeply and leans against CJ, trying not to shiver.

"Okay, Samshine?" She asks gently.

He only nods, incapable of anything more complex in that moment. She passes a hand through his hair and he can sense the smile on her face.

The sudden burst of emotion he feels is shattering.

Josh appears to have been transformed into some kind of overly amorous octopus, hands flailing as he nuzzles into CJ's shoulder. This always happens; alcohol makes him both horny and stupid.

CJ pushes him away and the inevitable bickering begins. Sam is quiet, lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the battle being waged beside him.

It's hard to pinpoint when it first began, not until he can figure out what it is. An emptiness, perhaps. Filled with an escalating sense of panic and foreboding. An uncomfortable pit in the bottom of his stomach, impossible to fill.

Sam wonders if he didn't dig the pit himself. The ground might have been broken by others but his own paranoia and insecurity had formed the shovel.

And then, one day, without his notice, just living became hard. Anxiety became a constant companion, leaving him exhausted, unable to sleep. His work suffered; focus and concentration eluded him at every turn.

He'd drifted.

"Sam?"

He blinks and looks up into concerned eyes. Toby. He wills his own to remain blank, whilst simultaneously hoping they are not, that they will betray him for his own good.

The taxi has stopped outside his apartment building and he fumbles the pocket of his blazer for his keys. CJ and Josh are already stood on the stoop, waiting.

Josh is speaking animatedly, about what Sam cannot tell. His hands are flying again, illustrating whatever lecture he has launched into his time.

Sam hands Toby the keys, trailing behind as they make their way inside and upstairs, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Steady and constant.

Toby unlocks the front door and Sam strides past him into his bedroom. He collapses face down onto soft sheet and cushioning pillows with the intention of never moving, ever again.

Sam hurts.

Literally and figuratively.

A hand lands on his back and he just barely manages not to flinch. Toby again. He refuses to roll over, knowing that if he does, that same concerned expression will be waiting to greet him.

Josh lands next to him with a thud. Sam finally prises his eyes open to see his friend watching him intently, with that curious focus belonging only to the extremely drunk or mildly high. Unable to bear the weight of such heavy scrutiny, he shuts his eyes, too tired to roll over and escape completely.

Exhaustion seems to be his default state these days. He thinks that Toby maybe knows how that feels but he cannot bring himself to ask, afraid of the answer. It's not a conversation he's particularly eager to experience.

He supposes that this physical manifestation of their worry for him should be a comfort. In some ways, it is. 

Sam knows now that he is wanted, that they care, that he has not been forgotten. Yet, he still worries that they merely feel as if they should care, that it's all a farce built upon their guilt and some kind of misbegotten sense of duty.

And this makes him feel even worse because he knows that he is doing them a disservice by doubting the veracity of their love for him. They should have his explicit trust. It is no more than they deserve after all these years of friendship.

Talking about their feelings isn't something they do. They tell each other that they're fine, as if giving voice to the idea might make it manifest, but none of them really know what that means any more.

Acknowledging that all is not, in fact, fine is hard because that's the moment in which their carefully constructed house of cards begins to implode. 

Of course, it's not their house to deconstruct. There are people who rely on them to keep things running smoothly, to keep them safe, to take on the responsibilities that they cannot. Such is political life.

They cannot admit to their own weaknesses and fears. It's too dangerous.

Despite this, they try. For what else can they do? Faced with impossible odds, indescribably terrifying consequences should they fail, all they can do is push on, to support each other, regardless of the potential risk involved.

"You're an idiot."

Toby is the first to speak, typically blunt and up front about it all. Josh, beside him, rolls his eyes.

"For once," He begins, "Toby's right. You're worth so much more than you realise, Sam. You're smart and funny and loyal and idealistic. You're our heart, our conscience. You reach for the stars whilst the rest of us are still cowering behind compromise and the middle ground. You're phenomenal, Sam."

Sam is still marvelling at their ability to see all his fears and insecurities without even trying, when CJ frowns and adds, "You know how I hate to admit that either of these two ever say anything with merit, but they're right."

Sam is, for once, at a loss for words, "I... I don't... How did you know what I..?"

"We know you."

Sam cannot help the half incredulous, half hysterical laugh that escapes him then. How they can know him so well, when he doesn't even really know himself?

"You're wrong." He says quietly, "About me. I'm... I'm afraid. Not of living; but of failing to live. I'm tired of the cynicism, I'm tired of constantly watching my back, wondering where the next hit's going to come from, rather than the next victory. I'm tired of being disappointed and disillusioned."

It's the most he's said all night.

"Definitely an idiot." Toby says.

They all laugh and Sam rolls his eyes, "Dude, I'm trying to bare my soul here." He knows Toby's not trying to make light of his problems, knows he doesn't mean it, he's just trying to lighten the mood.

Toby sighs and stands. “Einstein said 'the world is not a dangerous place because of those who do harm but because of those who look at it without doing anything'. We're doing something, Sam.”

The older man places a hand on each of Sam's shoulders, his firm grip grounding and sure.

A flurry of movement outside catches the corner of Sam's eye. He turns to look and can't help darting away from Toby, running downstairs and outside.

It's snowing.

The white, penny-sized flakes drifting silently down to rest upon the freezing ground. Like the sounds of someone else's thoughts; you can't hear them but you know that they are there.

It crunches beneath Sam's feet. 

Real. Tangible. Present.

The cold bites at the tips of his fingers but he doesn't care. A peaceful kind of joy that he has not known for years settles over him as he watches the transformation taking place around him.

He feels like a child again, unspoilt by the harshness of the world. It's a kind of innocence that he hasn't felt in a very long time and it brings tears to his eyes.

The others have followed him outside and are standing behind him staring up at the sky. 

Josh's eyes are round, beginning to sparkle with magic and mischief. Toby looks marginally less grumpy than usual, caught in the inescapable magic of a snow day. CJ is stamping her feet, muttering under her breath about crazy Northerners; she doesn't like the cold.

Sam feels calm, more so than he has in weeks. Then the first snowball hits the back of his head. He turns to see Josh, eyes sparkling, white snow melting against the black of his gloves.

A long-dead spark inside Sam reignites and he grins. He choose not to pelt Josh with the retaliatory missiles he deserves; instead, they both gather handfuls of snow and launch a simultaneous attack on the others. 

As snowballs fly through the air, Sam can't help thinking that this is how life is supposed to be. Full of love and laughter and friendship.

It's a bitter-sweet feeling; he knows that in the morning, all this will be gone and he will have to face another day of hardship and fear. But maybe his heart will be lighter, his step springier, and his idealism rejuvenated in a way he never believed possible.


End file.
